Clotted Cream
by pardonnez
Summary: You get what you deserve.
1. Chapter 1

_Hermione's insane. Hermione's insane. You're insane Hermione, did you know? _

_Is it a surprise Hermione? Is it eating you Hermione? What's wrong Hermione? _

_Did I hurt your feelings? Hurt your feelings the way you hurt-_

'Shut up!' Thank God I was alone in the elevator. I don't know how I could have explained that. 'Shut up you miserable little wretch inside my head! I hate you!'

It felt good to say it aloud, to be honest with the voice. I am not insane. I swear. I swear it on my magic, I swear on my friends. I swear it on my-_Parents? Were you going to say parents Hermione? Oooooh now that's interesting Hermione, now that's ironic. Where are you going sweetheart, I'm not-_

Thank God, the elevator was open. I walked down halls, where the air was thick with aerosol sprays seeking desperately to mask the stink of illness. I shouldn't have put them here. But this was the best facility that their world had, and at least they could be together. I guess. I shouldn't have put them here.

12, 13, 14, There was a woman sobbing, screaming inside that room. I moved on. 15, and a man was saying polite meaningless words, very softly- 16 and here was the inevitable-17. Two polite raps announced me, but the door was locked. What did that mean? I had called ahead. I had called ahead, and the secretary downstairs had said I could just- no, don't panic, that will make the voice come back, don't panic.

Like a god throwing Ferrero Rocher from some mystically puffy cloud, I saw a nursing attendant in that ubiquitous mint green that does nothing for anyone.

'Hello Miss, excuse me, but I need to see my parents and the door is locked." It came out faster than I might have wanted, but on the all, it was good. I looked at Minty. She painted on her eyebrows, but I wasn't judging. After all I'm insane. She also had big big pores on her nose though, so maybe she wins. This time, at least.

'Did you call ahead and check with the secretary downstairs?' She eyed me, as if searching for some sort of weapon.

'Yes, I called three days ago, and checked downstairs and then called again just in case fifteen minutes before I came here. Yeah I called, but the door is locked, so I don't know, you know? So I was wondering if you could just unlock the door, because my parents are inside.' I didn't do so well this time. Did she know how long it was since I had talked to someone, anyone face to face? It was hard, damnit!

'Right. And your name is?' Minty was suspicious now. She raised her painted eyebrow.

I was focusing on the eyebrow, maybe peering a little.

'Granger, Hermione, Granger for an appointment at 3:30, room 17!'

'Right, just wait here one minute, please.' Before I could respond, she went down a way and used the hall phone, calling, I supposed, the secretary to ensure my legitimacy.

She hung up and strode towards me, her super short platinum blond hair wafting about her ears, reminding me of someone from a long time ago. She sneered a little as she opened the door, reinforcing the sensation.

I wonder whatever happened to- but no. The door was open and it was time to spend twenty minutes with two vegetables that used to be my parents.

* * *

She was rubbing my leg, the little tart. It was a private dinner for four, at a restaurant that prided itself on serving authentic American mublood …muggleborn cuisine. Welcome to the consequences of a war that shook the foundations of the wizarding world.

But Mother and Father knew it was Good Publicity. So here we were. And here I was with Sophia, a half-blood American with no taste and big green eyes- Theo recommended her to me for the occasion. Also Good Publicity, seeing Malfoys amicable with half-bloods. Baby steps.

Sophia was still touching my leg. I snuck a look at her, and saw that through the polite meaningless words that drifted around the table, she was in shock, or at least surprised. I took her wrist, quite firmly, and asked her what the matter was.

'Finally! I thought you were never going to ask!'

I posed the question again.

'Well, Draco-' I stiffened. Too much too soon, though she was attractive. And she was attractive-it was the color of her skin perhaps, a dark and exotic tawny shade.

'Are you listening?' And grating, I shall never forget grating.

'Yes Ms. Laurent. Please continue.' Appeased by what she no doubt saw as old-world manners, she continued

'Well, I was saying that only Harry Potter just walked in, like the Absolute Savior of the Wizarding World. And into my restaurant! This is the best PR I'll get for years!'

Mother stopped the flow of polite meaningless words. She gave me a look that meant many things. It reminded me of my obligation to the Malfoy House. It demanded that I use this opportunity to further Good Publicity. It screamed that I be on my best behavior.

My life is shit.

I rose from my chair, no noise emanating from the soft fawn carpet and looked at Harry Potter, the boy who refused my hand of friendship. The boy who had taken everything from me, my family, my dignitas, the grandeur and unblemished ancestry of my line. The boy who spearheaded a movement that brought my father to his knees, a posture from which he has never recovered. Humility, Draco. Humility- for you can no longer afford to be proud. Pride is for Potter now.

Pride is for Potter now.

Pride is for Potter now.

_You're insane Draco. You're insane Draco. Hey Draco, did you know you were insane? Is it a surprise Draco? Is it eating you up, Draco? Is it eating you ALIVE? _


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N- UPDATES SHOULD COME EVERY SUNDAY. UNLESS I CHANGE MY MIND. OR DON'T FEEL LIKE IT. OR HAVE AN EXAM. OR ONE OF MY FRIENDS HAVE DRAMA AND DECIDES TO SOB ON MY SHOULDER (S?) OR I GET SICK- IF I GET SICK FORGET IT. MAYBE (?) NOT SURE. COLD, OK, BUT SINUS INFECTION, THERE IS NO CHANCE. THAT SAID, BELIEVE ME WHEN I SAY, EVEN THOUGH I DON'T KNOW YOU, EVEN THOUGH I HAVE NEVER AND WILL NEVER MEET YOU- I LOVE YOU. **

**Review. Review. Review. Review. Review. Review. Review. **

Hermione closed the door very softly, and smiled to herself when she checked the hallway and found that it was Mint free. 17, 16- the man had finally stopped his flow of polite meaningless words, 15, 14- the woman was still screaming at a sleeping god, 13, 12- elevator.

Do I take the elevator? Is it safe? Is the voice still- you know… in there?

In retrospect, it was one of those moments, when you could either take control of your life, or you could hide. Hide and become a coward, a craven parasite on life, the old cow.

Hermione saw a Minty look-alike eyeing her curiously and she screwed her courage to the sticking place.

'Hi could you please show where the stairs are?' And she silently raised her arm, finger pointing incontrovertibly to the Exit sign. It was all I needed.

* * *

Harry Potter, Lord of All He Surveys, looked only slightly discomfited at my appearance at his table, where he sat with the Weasel- Mr. Weasley and Ms. Weaseley- or was it Mrs. Potter yet? Wait- it must be, they had a son, I think, yes. A son, I saw him, just as Potter saw my own.

'Mr. Potter, felicitations are due.' I tried to be informal. I failed.

Potter smirked a little, but not maliciously- it was with something I didn't want to define, something close to pity.

'Hello, Draco. How are you?'

I was a little shocked, and saw the same emotion in Weaseley's face, or rather his hands, which had just know clenched around his knife and fork. Heathen.

'Fine, thank you. I came on behalf of my escort this evening, Ms. Sophia Laurent, who is the owner of this establishment and wishes to convey her warmest welcomes. She is at my table, but slightly indisposed- thus I am your messenger.' A lie. I just needed to talk long enough for someone to take a photograph, which would surely end up in tomorrow's Daily Prophet.

Wait for it, wait for it- and good. A small blonde at a table near the kitchen had gotten a camera out of her ridiculously large purse (sack?) and sure enough a flash went off. Mission Accomplished.

'As I do not wish to detain you, I bid you adieu.' I reached my hand toward Potter. He stared.

Slowly his hand met mine and we shook. A second flash went off. Excellent. Mother would be pleased.

'Goodbye Malfoy.' There was a small strangled hop in the back of Potter's eyes. I smiled in a most genuine fashion and turned on my heel, striding back to the table.

Mother's eyes met mine, and I nodded. She let a small, quick smile slip out for a second.

Father only gazed at the tablecloth. It was as much as we could expect, for now.

Of course Sophia was first to speak. I hated the way she rolled her R's. 'Drrraco! What was that all about? What was he like? Can you maybe introduce us?' Idiot.

'Sophia, darling, he's a trifle indisposed at the moment.'

I was going to drop her before the night was through.

* * *

I made quick steps to a convenient clump of trees near the facility. Supposedly, these were the 'woods' that put the woods in Woody Brooks Facility for the Clinically Unwell. The brochure was much nicer.

I apparated back to my flat, a flat a convenient distance from the Weasley's. A flat that Ron once inhabited. I couldn't think about this , couldn't think about-_Ronald, you mean? How he was your one chance of being worthwhile, of being normal, and how the two of you just faded away, like a memory, like a pipedream. Or is it that you don't want to think of Harry anymore, how he never calls?_

It's not his fault, he's busy, he has a job, a wife, he has-

_Children. _

It hurt so bad. They were something I never even knew I wanted. But eleven years later, I knew the sharp empty ache of the childless woman. I would give so much to feel a child inside me, to watch it grow, to give birth. I would give so much for every nasty nappie, every stain, every muddy footprint, every weird and unidentifiable crayon drawing. Every argument. But there was no one. It was just me, alone, by myself. Me and one thousand old,old memories that had no substance, bleached out and worn with reuse.

I was alone.

_I know you are. _For once the voice was sympathetic.

_I am always sympathetic. I just tell you what you don't want to hear. _

It was too much. My flat was still an embodiment of Ron, and my stomach was so very flat and empty.

_If you want to add to that list, you also need to be at Hogwarts with a Speech for the commemoration of the last Battle within the hour, Hermione. _Holy shit!

_And I know you haven't started._


	3. Chapter 3

**SO I GUESS I HAVE TO KEEP MY PROMISE. LIKE I SAID, EVERY SUNDAY. KEPT PROMISE FOR THE AUTHOR… IF YOU KEEP REVIEWING. YEAH, THAT COULD BE INTERPRETED AS A THREAT. MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! INSANITY STRIKES AGAIN!!!(AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN)**

Mother was not impressed with the carriage that received us at the apparition point.

More specifically, she was not impressed with the jostling of the carriage, which forced her uncomfortably close to some sort of peasant person who shared it with us.

But like the lady she is, she said nothing, and only clasped Father's arm the slightest bit tighter, anchoring herself against the peasant.

I too disliked carriages. I abhorred this one in particular- I declare that there was one bump where I levitated at least three inches. Absolutely unacceptable. But I too, said nothing. We are English, after all.

Father only gazed, quietly, out the window. It was as much as we could expect, for now.

The peasant, an overweight woman with ridiculous last season boots, dirty fingernails, and terrible acne scars that ran in strange patterns over her common, flat face, was more vocal in her disapproval.

As peasants will be, you know.

'I tell you- the standards at Hogwarts have certainly declined, I say! If only my dear Colin was alive, he would have put a stop to this immediately! Oh, my dear Mr. Creevey, leaving me a widow!-'

She broke off, apparently in conversation with the departed Mr. Creevey. Which, if one could judge by her gaze, aboded somewhere above Mother's head?

I would offer great sacrifices if only I could pass today without further degradation.

But the chat with the spectral Creevey had desisted during my prayer. As always, it was never enough-_but how hard have you really prayed Draco? How much do you care about anything, anymore?_

'Why! I know you! You're Mr. Malfoy! I-'

'Lord.' I could put up with much, so much. But if it was going to address me, it would do so with my proper title. I earned it after all. I did take the trouble to be born. Sans silver spoon, if one must know.

'What's that?' Her accent was terrible. Blood will tell.

I looked at Father then, saw mother dabbing the corner of his mouth, where spittle accumulated from time to time.

Blood will tell for us all.

_Well aren't we the quick student! It only took a war, didn't it Draco? It only took your Father's sanity to figure it out! You ruined everything, every chance, every outstretched hand for salvation- now look at you! In a ratty hansom with a peasant, going to see your son, the product of a failed marriage? Where is Parkinson Draco, hmmm? Where is she now? _

I hated that voice, hated its unceasing vibration in my skull, in my chest.

_No, that's right, put that commoner in her place Draco, after all you see how well that worked out for Father, drooling on himself, wetting the bed at night like a BIG USELESS BABY?_

I was ashamed. Humility, Draco, humility.

But the peasant- the widow, was addressing him again.

'I say sir-if you had only known him- but perhaps you did!' The widow looked earnestly in my direction.

'It's not likely, Madame.' Thank God, we were approaching the gates. The carriage jerked to a stop, and the commoner's knee almost touched my own. I clutched the faded velvet handle and leapt out, escorting Mother and Father back into the site of our ruin. It was night, dark and warm, like the womb- like the night when we were so close to winning, winning everything._ But would you still want to Draco? Do you still believe? In anything, anymore? No, Draco, you don't believe in anything, anymore._

The widow was still talking.

I give speeches. Harry became an Auror, as did Ron and Ginny. But not me- I have a way with words, always have, and a very good memory. Combine that with war-hero status and an impeccable school record, and you have a premier speaker, who will relate any occasion you wish to host to the Last Battle and the Second War, and leave everyone feeling as though they were there with me as Voldemort died.

* * *

Needless to say the Ministry loved me. Harry, not so much.

And so, on the eleventh anniversary of the Last Battle, the anniversary when all my friends' children were finishing their first year at Hogwarts, Minerva finally, finally convinced me to come back, and speak.

This would be my first time, coming back.

* * *

It was in the Great Hall, of course- nowhere else would do. Parental and public seating was a strange matter- it seemed as though they had just added a fifth table, right in the middle of things.

How very awkward. Mother sniffed and Father just gazed at the table, idly tracing patterns in the wood with a fingertip.

I gazed at the dias, wondering who would speak.

* * *

I still didn't know exactly what I was going to say.

It wasn't that I forgot about it, per se- more that I had a terrible bout of procrastination. That and I was thinking about the visit for my parents and never fully realized that the two events were on the same day.

I tried on exactly six outfits- all bad, all dowdy, all old and ugly. I had twenty-six minutes to Apparate.

What in God's good name will I wear? Where is that damn voice with all the answers when I need it?

_I thought you'd never ask, Hermione. _

Smug little shite.

_Back of your closet, all the way to the right, hanging in the blue plastic._

What? I never bought- Oh.

_Yes, Hermione, that dress. It will never happen now, but you should use it for something, shouldn't you._

Well, no, when we-when Ron and I seemed a sure thing, I had bought an engagement dress. Stupid, yes, but I had already watched too many muggle movies where the boy asks the girl out to dinner at a ridiculous restaurant, and she just knows, just knows that this is the night.

And I wanted to be ready.

God, doesn't that hurt. If that doesn't hurt so badly, then I don't know.

_You only have fourteen minutes now Hermione. And your hair is horrifying. Makeup wouldn't hurt either._

For the first time, I smiled a little at the voice. And I took out the dress, in its old, blue plastic covering.


End file.
